


Incommunicado

by LariaGwyn



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-21
Updated: 2012-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-31 13:21:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/344472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LariaGwyn/pseuds/LariaGwyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur honestly hadn’t realized it was physically possible to miss a person to the point of insomnia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Incommunicado

**Author's Note:**

> Betaed by [starlingthefool](http://starlingthefool.livejournal.com/) and [gollumgollum](http://gollumgollum.livejournal.com/). Thank you so much, darlings, you are the loveliest. ♥ And thank you to [bookshop](http://bookshop.livejournal.com/profile) for her encouraging words. :)

He feels the mattress dip as Eames climbs into the bed, and his bare back is suddenly toasty warm as Eames slides over, but he doesn’t lift his head or say a word. Eames doesn’t come any closer as if he senses (correctly) that Arthur’s not ready.

He doesn’t pretend to be asleep and Eames doesn’t pretend he doesn’t know that Arthur’s awake and they both lie there in silence and darkness, unmoving, the small space between their bodies steadily growing more heavily weighted until Arthur can’t stand it anymore. Because he’s not actually angry now, just nervous as fuck (shit, why is this so hard), and he wants, needs to see Eames, to hear his familiar, drawling voice.

Arthur rolls onto his back and finally looks at Eames’ face. Eames is lying on his side, still fully dressed. His eyes are dark smudges, contrasting sharply with the pallor of his face, and he looks as exhausted and miserable as Arthur’s felt for the last two months. Arthur frowns and opens his mouth but Eames shakes his head once and Arthur stops.

“I should have told you about the job when Rita called me,” says Eames. “I should have told you it was Clarke running the show.”

“I didn’t mean what I said about your intelligence,” says Arthur. “I should have told you exactly why Clarke is the biggest dickhead on the planet.”

“Christ, he really, really is.”

“And I shouldn’t have questioned your competence.”

“Or my sanity.”

“No, you actually are a crazy fucker.”

Eames grins. Somehow he’s closed the gap between them without Arthur noticing, his whole body is pressed up against Arthur’s, one muscled arm draped over Arthur’s waist, his hand caressing Arthur’s hip. Arthur resists the urge to mark Eames’ neck; they’re both obviously exhausted and drained, and he knows he doesn’t really have the energy to tear Eames’ travel-rumpled clothes off (dammit). But he can’t stop his hands from roaming all over Eames’ arms, his chest, his neck, can’t stop sliding his palms over Eames’ stubbled jaw, and God, it’s been two months of simmering silence and sleepless nights in a cold bed, and Arthur honestly hadn’t realized it was physically possible to miss a person to the point of insomnia.

Eames buries his nose in Arthur’s hair. “I shouldn’t have taken the Ferrari.”

“Or Danielle.”

“Definitely not Danielle. Your sodding assault rifle has always hated me.”

“She’s a very discerning gun. I shouldn’t have thrown Brussels in your face.”

“I shouldn’t have mentioned Fischer’s security.”

They smile at each other, and Arthur feels everything slowly start to flow away, all the tension and stress and loneliness that have clouded around him like a cancerous miasma ever since Eames walked out the door, both of them still flinging barbed words at the other’s back. He’s discovered that he would rather be shanked with a dirty toothbrush, punched in the kidneys, have Eames scream at him all day long and throw crockery at him in a messy, childish tantrum, than be stuck in a timeless warp of frigid silence; has realized that a seemingly endless cycle of non-action, swinging like a pendulum between hopeful anticipation and disappointment as each day passes without a word, takes more energy than running the Boston Marathon. Neither of them had tried to end the stalemate, and two months of staring at his phone, obsessively checking his inbox, surreptitiously bribing various contacts to keep an eye on Eames’ team and triple-checking their surveillance results had nearly driven Arthur mad. Arthur enjoys feeling like a crazy person about as much as he enjoys going into a job blind or getting kneed in the crotch.

“We’re not doing this ever again,” says Arthur. “The not talking thing. Never again.”

“Bothered you, did it?”

“Made me want to shoot you in the face.”

“Because people with holes in their heads are such a chatty bunch.”

“Shut up.”

“I thought you wanted me to—mmf!”

Arthur draws the kiss out as long as possible, relishing the gorgeous noises he’s able to coax from Eames, reacquainting himself with Eames’ mouth, his scent, his wickedly agile tongue. They’re both panting when Arthur pulls back, but he deftly evades the hand Eames tries to stick into his boxers and pulls the covers over them both.

“We are going to sleep, Eames,” Arthur says firmly. “Take off your shirt first. You smell like an airport.”

“You’re so cruel,” Eames says, but he shimmies out of his shirt before curling his body around Arthur again.

“I’ll make it up to you tomorrow,” Arthur says, smothering a yawn.

“You’re going to regret saying that in the morning when I make you beg for it, love.” Eames attempts to sound grumpy and sexy but his words come out tired and content and slightly slurred.

“Regret is not what you should be aiming for, asshole,” says Arthur but he only receives a soft snore in reply, which might or might not be faked, not that he cares when Eames is so wonderfully warm and boneless and wrapped around him like a security blanket. Arthur smiles, murmurs, “G’night, Eames,” and presses a kiss to Eames’ shoulder before allowing himself to finally drift off.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for Team Romance in the [ae_match](http://ae_match.livejournal.com/) challenge for the prompt "silence."


End file.
